


we do it better with no one around

by bonerot



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Cats, Golden Deer spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Mentions of War, Mid-Canon, Mid-Timeskip, Pining, Spoilers, Will add more as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 02:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20107324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonerot/pseuds/bonerot
Summary: So Claude continues to believe, planning for the impossible and allowing himself to daydream only in private, where he can indulge his lovesick heart in peace.(A collection of snippets from Claude's POV during and after the the timeskip, and coping with all the events of the game. Written from the perspective of the Golden Deer route. Major spoilers abound. M!Byleth, because Claude should have been bisexual and I like to think he's just as upset about not being able to date M!Byleth as the rest of us.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you make yourself sad at 3am and write a sad unbeta'd claude-centric snippet about him pining after byleth while waiting for him to return from his 5 year depression coma
> 
> [mandatory loop while you read this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NE6pANWJGuU)

The day Byleth disappeared off that cliff, Claude felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach in a way he’d never experienced in all his years.

Perhaps it had been foolish to pin all his hopes and dreams on one terrifyingly capable individual. He knew that. _He knew that_. But Byleth had changed Claude’s life and the lives of all around him for the better in such a way that Claude couldn’t help but be captivated by the possibilities they represented.

Certainly, the professor wasn’t perfect— for all his impossible feats and capabilities, he was barely older than the students he so lovingly looked after. More often than not, it felt less like Byleth was their teacher and more a friend— a mentor, someone to rely on for _anything_, surpassing the simple roles of the academic setting.

He was young. It was stupid, but sometimes Claude’s mind wandered. For someone so focused on keeping tabs on the world around him— it was so easy to get distracted.

After spending a year imagining a future with Byleth by his side, changing the world for the better, Claude lost more than his friend when Byleth plummeted into an oblivion no one could follow.

The young heir lost the key player to the future he so desperately wanted; at some point, Byleth had snuck himself into those aspirations Claude had stubbornly clung to for so long, and now it felt empty at the thought of even trying without him.

Perhaps it was simply Claude’s form of coping, to simply deny it altogether. A part of him refused to believe that Byleth_ could _die— after all, Claude had _watched_ Byleth come back from death once, accomplishing the impossible.

Surely, this wouldn’t kill the legendary teacher, right? Not after everything that had happened. The Monastery needed him. Fódlan needed him. _Claude_ needed him.

The professor would come back home soon, right?

...Right?

  


But Claude didn’t allow loss to cripple him. No, he pushed forward— as much as it stung to think of a future where Byleth never returned to them, where Edelgard conquered all in sight until she was satisfied with her unholy war, Claude pushed his dismays away. The Alliance as it stood was still independent of the war in which the Empire and Kingdom were embroiled in, and Claude worked hard to keep it that way. Because the day when Edelgard set her crimson gaze on the Alliance was an inevitable one— if nothing else, if the Alliance could stand its ground in the face of subjugation, that would be enough.

He never let go of hope, that Byleth might return to them one day. For someone with such a notorious reputation towards _scheming_ and such, Claude was shockingly optimistic, and always planned for the impossible day that his beloved mentor returned from wherever he had disappeared off to.

“You know,” Hilda said once, on one of their encounters after Claude took control of House Riegan, “it’s almost kinda inspiring! Makes me want to believe, too.” She played it off with a little smile and a laugh, nonchalant in that way of hers that made her so unsuspecting to the uninitiated. She isn’t even looking Claude in the eye as she speaks, sipping her tea primly. Hilda is as prim and proper as you’d expect out of a young noblewoman— you’d never expect that she carries a massive battle axe into battle with her, Goneril tradition notwithstanding.

Claude had laughed at that, playing off the obvious topic while fingering through various letters of maudlin praise for his inheritance following his grandfather’s death. “What do you mean? Certainly you haven’t suddenly mistaken me for a newly-converted devout of Seiros in recent years.”

“I mean, you’re certainly devout to _someone!”_ Hilda doesn’t mince her words, but she layers the deeper meaning under that carefree lackadaisical tone of hers, discussing the topic as though they were chatting about the latest fashion fad in the markets. Claude coughs a little at being so pointedly seen through, and Hilda hides a wider smile into her cup. “As far as I know, anyway, since Rhea disappeared, Teach is basically the head of the Church. So you aren’t actually that far off.”

“Hilda— I am _not_—” and Claude lets out a long-suffering sigh, putting down his papers with a little huff. “Must you choose _this_ conversation to be so pointed about things? And I am not _devoted_ to anyone, thank you very much. I just think it’s improbable that Teach really died on that cliff. We watched him walk out of a hole to another _world_, Hilda— I don’t think a fall could kill him that easily.”

It’s a conversation they’ve had before. She probably brought it back up in the first place because Claude was also reviewing the latest reports from the scouts he keeps posted around Garreg Mach, always keeping an eye out for a teal-haired mercenary to reappear in the territory. Hilda’s smile goes just a tad bit bittersweet, and she sets down her tea with a small little _click_, folding her hands in her lap.

“Don’t you think he would have come back by now, Claude?” Her voice is softer. Gentle. She gave up hope a long time ago, he knows, but Hilda would never want to hurt her friend with how much he so clearly cares for the professor. They _all_ miss him dearly, but they had to set their eyes on the present war. There was no time for the future when it could be cut away from them so easily by Edelgard. “It’s been three years. We can’t wait around for him forever. That’s not what he would want for us.”

“Just because I haven’t ruled out the possibility, doesn't mean I’m hinging all our plans on his return. But I won’t give up on believing that he’ll return to us one day. Teach has always kept his promises, and it’s just… a matter of playing the waiting game.” Claude is firm in his words, even if he’s self-conscious at how naive they must sound. But he knows it— knows in his _heart_— that Byleth can’t be dead. He _can’t_ be.

Hilda sighs again at Claude’s earnest words, giving in for the time being. She never wins these little arguments of theirs, but she doesn’t push, either. She’s quick to change the subject, pulling out one of her trinkets. “Fine, fine. Hey, Claude— tell me what you think of this. You think Marianne would like it? I was thinking of sending it to her in one of our letters, but she’s never been the type to really like my gifts! I tried to make it simple, but…”

They leave the unspoken words hanging in the air: more than anything else, Claude just _wants_ Byleth to be alive. A world where the goddess’s so-called chosen died an unceremonious death that day so many years ago wasn’t one Claude wanted to live in.

When it was, exactly, that Claude’s admiration had blossomed into something more, he’s not sure. And it’s not like he would ever expect his _teacher_ to return those kinds of feelings— he’s not _that_ stupid. It won’t kill him to never have them requited, having accepted the futility of it all the moment he identified his feelings as _more_.

Just knowing that Byleth is alive, that’s enough. As long as Claude can live while Byleth changes Fódlan for the better, he will be happy. And he doesn’t believe that Byleth would leave the world in such a sorry state, not by a long shot.

So Claude continues to believe, planning for the impossible and allowing himself to daydream only in private, where he can indulge his lovesick heart in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro i haven't written fic in so long claude von riegan really has me going absolutely feral
> 
> [catch me on the blue bird hellsite](http://twitter.com/manatrigger)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here's today's mandatory listening](https://open.spotify.com/track/1srF7uJya3ZJ9wfJ52Tbut?si=HtCA7CqyRS-ofXXcI4USqA)
> 
> a little less pining heavy but... wait 4 it :3c

There was bound to be changes when Claude took over House Riegan and, in tandem, the estate. Certainly, he never had much intention to stay here forever— Claude was in a unique position, being split between two countries as he was, and two which were at constant odds no less. It was always simple enough to say that he was from Almyra, but to say that he was the _crown prince_— on _top_ of being the heir to House Riegan!— well.

There’s a reason Claude kept most of his past to himself. It was just easier that way, if he wanted to accomplish his goals.

So, naturally, when Duke Riegan passed away, Claude spared no time in making sweeping changes across the estate to accommodate his ascension to dukedom and as the lord of the affairs of the Alliance. Most of which seemed standard stuff— renovating older parts of the estate which hadn’t been touched in recent years due to his grandfather’s illness, updating the guard, the staff, et cetera…

Of course, there were _other_ changes. Claude had far different tastes than his late grandfather— not that he didn’t appreciate them, of course. Duke Riegan had always been militaristic, and there was evidence of that everywhere, thanks to the consistent conflicts between Almyra and the Alliance over the years.

There was no hatred in his grandfather, of course. But he always thought of war before peace when it came to the Almyrans, a sentiment that was somewhat mutual between the two territories, and that sentiment had grown into the same intolerance and stigma Claude himself experienced firsthand when he came to Fódlan.

You can’t blame him for wanting to his own mark on the Riegan estate. Claude took his time with his changes, of course— despite his legitimate claim, there were still many who doubted his capabilities to lead because of his heritage and origins, and he would not give them more to complain about.

Under Claude’s careful work, his family estate became less a monument to the militaristic strength of House Riegan, and something more peaceful.

Judith once said she hadn’t seen this many flowers in the Riegan estate since she was a young girl, and that was more than enough for Claude to feel confident that things were changing for the better.

Not everything was exactly planned, though. Like the cats. Claude did not account for the _cats._

Because if there is one thing anyone knows about Claude von Riegan if they have known him since his school years, it’s that he doesn’t… like… cats much. Or rather, cats don’t like _him_.

How it was that the professor managed to charm and corral the felines of the Monastery so well, Claude will _never_ understand. He’s tried to befriend cats multiple times, to no avail— perhaps it’s the stench of those poisons he likes to play with so often that scares them off. So Claude gave up long ago ever befriending creatures of the feline variety, and was content to live his life without ever worrying about it.

But, you know. Life always has its ways of sneaking up on you.

“What’s all this?” Claude questions at a small gathering of maids on his way to the kitchens, one eyebrow raised at the cluster of them as they chitter and chatter amongst themselves. It had been nearly six months since Claude had taken over House Riegan, and the staff had finally started to settle around him. They startle at the attention of their lord and some scatter outright, but most simply look over at Claude without any answers in their guilty eyes. “Oi, oi, don’t give me that! I’m not gonna bite your head off like my granddad! I’m just curious.”

“Ah, well, y’see milord…” one soft-spoken maid voices, surprisingly brave for her meek demeanor. Her accent is lowborn, although not from any of the Alliance territories that Claude is familiar with. “We, well, we found a queen nestin’ and gettin’ ready t’have her litter, and we wanted t’find her a more comfortable spot t’do her business, so I called tha’ other maids over for some help, an’...”

Claude raises an eyebrow at her. He remembers her— she was a refugee from the Kingdom, after the Boar Prince fell to the infighting. It had been a shock to receive the report that Dimitri had fallen, but Claude wasn’t necessarily surprised at his death— it was that Dimitri had fallen before he could take the revenge he so desperately wanted on Edelgard.

He still remembers the way Dimitri had gone cold in the aftermath of Edelgard’s betrayal. He was never the warmest person, but it had been like some beast had taken root in Dimitri’s mind and made it’s home under his skin, wiping away any of the sweetness that might have still been left in the boy all those years ago. Claude never had the chance to meet him again, and sometimes he wonders if that was for the better.

“And why haven’t you, then? Surely it doesn’t take a whole gaggle of you to deal with it!” Claude jokes, cracking a smile to ease the maid’s worries. Aislinn— that’s what he thinks he name is, anyway— seems to tremble on the spot, but stands her ground. “Ah, I’m not criticizing! Sorry. Still getting used to this…”

Aislinn squares her shoulders a bit and tilts her chin up, despite her shaking voice. “We— we know y’don’t like cats, milord, but we have a bit of a’ rodent problem around th’ estate…”

And it’s at this point that Claude realizes he can hear the distinct sound of mewling. From _multiple_ sources. Not all of the maids had retreated, either, but they watch from not far away, as though they expected the lord of House Riegan to punish them for sticking around.

At Claude’s intrigued stare, Aislinn wavers, and she steps aside, revealing a small little crevice in the wall the maids had been gathered around. These aren’t newborn kittens— they’re at least a few weeks old, pushing their heads into their mother’s belly for food, stumbling around and on top of her. They seem oblivious to the commotion around them, big eyes focused on the tabby affectionately guarding them.

“We, uh… we didn’t wan’na move ‘em, so…” Aislinn explains, trailing off and wringing her apron in her fists. “We’ve been takin’ care a’ them here…” She quiets as Claude approaches the little felines, eyebrows going up into her blonde hair in shock as he gets right down in his knees, finery and expense of his lord’s clothes be damned.

The queen finally takes attention of Claude, looking up to meet his eyes with a critical stare. Sizing him up. Seeing if he’s a threat to her children. Usually, this goes badly— Claude’s tried his damnest to befriend cats his whole life, but they never take to him, and he’s gotten more than enough scratches and marks from every encounter to prove that maybe it’s just a lost cause. He isn’t expecting much here, but he’s never seen… _kittens_ before, either, and he won’t deny that maybe he’s a little soft on the sight.

Just as Claude thinks she’s about to reach a paw out and snarl at him, one of her litter seems to take a keen interest in the lord, peeking it’s head up from the mother’s belly to look at him. And after a few seconds, it tumbles towards him, not even caring slightly for the step drop between the alcove and the rest of the world.

“Oh, oh—” Claude says under his breath, reaching forward to catch it before it hits the ground, and the tiny little ball of fur tips right into his hands, mewling out in surprise. It’s a black kitten, with little white spots here and there, and startling blue eyes as it stares up at him.

It’s

_so soft_.

“Aren’t you trying to get ahead of yourself there?” Claude admonishes gently with a smile in his voice, lifting the kitten back up to the little alcove and presenting it back to its mother. It’s easily distracted, and squirms out of his hands towards its siblings to bite at one of their tails. The prior aggression from the queen seems to have dissipated, and she gives Claude another long stare before returning to caring for her kits.

Aislinn is still standing nearby, and when she shuffles her feet, Claude finally realizes that he’s gotten caught up in the moment, clearing his throat and standing a bit abruptly. “You— uh, you said they make good mousers, right?”

The maid seems shocked that Claude had been… paying attention to her words, and she snaps to attention, nodding fervently. “Yes, milord! Had a lot o’ them in my hometown, I did. Never had a mouse problem for as long as we did.” Aislinn takes on a pained expression as she talks of her home, and Claude takes pity on her.

“Then I hereby place you in charge of our Mousing Strike Team,” Claude says, his voice filled with a false tone of officiality and pomp. “I trust you’ll train them good and strong, yes? Leave no mouse alive, Captain Aislinn!”

“Y— Yes, milord!” Aislinn doesn’t question the humorous tone in Claude’s voice, straightening her back at the order, before realizing what it was she had just been asked of. “Wait— y’mean… they can stay?”

Claude flashes a gentle smile her way, one hand balanced on his hip. “I mean, the strike team might have been pushing it, but yes, they’re welcome. I don’t see any problem with it. Do you?”

The other maids— who _still_ haven’t quite disappeared, for the record— start chittering amongst themselves, while Aislinn shakes her head vigorously.

“Good. Then I leave them in your care.” Claude tilts his head at her with a smile and a wink, and turns on his heel to continue on his way, content with the decision.

Several weeks later, and the kittens have been nothing but chaos.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best _idea_,” Lorenz sneers, lifting one leg up as one of the kittens dashes through his feet, staying just balanced enough not to topple over. There’s two of them playing in the entrance hall, and Claude has the biggest smile while the heir of House Gloucester _scowls_. “What respectable leader of the Alliance has— has _felines_ making a mess of their estate?”

“Should I remind you that the monastery had an entire colony of cats, Lorenz?” Claude teases, holding back a laugh as he bends down to reach his hand down in an attempt to draw one of the felines’ attention.

“That was the Church! This is your seat of power, your— your noble estate, the center of the Alliance!” In the time since the battle at Garreg Mach, Lorenz has been growing out his hair, and it now ends near his shoulders. It seems his bangs have gotten a well-needed trim, and he no longer has that _horrendous_ triangle shape framing his face. He really does look all the better for it, not that _Lorenz Hellman Gloucester_ would _ever_ accept a compliment from Claude.

It’s impossible for Claude not to hold back his laughter this time, and it tumbles out unbidden, only drawing more of Lorenz’s ire. Really, if Lorenz was a lesser man, Claude wouldn’t be surprised if the noble decided to try and take one of Claude’s eyes out with that polished boot of his.

Thankfully, that’s too _unrefined_ for Lorenz. But it doesn’t mean Claude doesn’t fear it for the briefest moment, even if he’s watching with a smile on his face.

Lorenz lets out an embarrassed, frustrated _huff_ in Claude’s direction. He intends to come off as haughty and hostile, but Claude’s never had much to fear from Lorenz— in fact, he’d consider the man one of this closer friends, even if he fashions himself a thorn in Claude’s side. “You do not take your position seriously at all. This is _exactly_ what I was worried about. How is the Alliance _ever_ going to…”

Claude isn’t paying attention, however. One of the kittens has finally taken interest in Claude, padding over and nosing into his hand with a happy little_ mrrrp_. Lorenz continues prattling for a few moments before taking notice of the feline who’s enjoying Claude’s attention, and he stares down at it inquisitively. “I thought all of the cats at the monastery hated you.” After a moment, he puts on his hostile airs again, and Lorenz sneers. “For good reason, of course. What did you scheme up to make this one like you, huh?”

There’s a sigh from Claude. He really has begun to hate that word, _scheme_. But it follows him, and while it isn’t necessarily wrong, he’s always disliked it. It’s easy enough to use it to his advantage, but it would be nice to have his stratagems seen as more than petty schemes one day. “Would you believe me if I said this one just likes me?”

It’s the black and white kitten Claude first bonded with when he encountered the cats. None of the other felines seem to care much for him, but at least they don’t scratch him every time he tries to approach— so there’s certainly been an improvement! But this cat in particular, Claude’s taken quite a liking to, and the feeling seems to be mutual as it presses up against the lord’s boots for more attention. He remembers one of the maids telling him that cats— just like babies— don’t usually keep their blue eyes after infancy, but this one seems to have retained that trait, and that _might_ be part of why Claude is so charmed.

Lorenz makes a rather ugly face of disbelief at the scene, but the distaste doesn’t actually reach his eyes. “_Ugh_. Well, I won’t have any more of it— I must be leaving now. And I assure you, visitors to the Alliance will _not_ take kindly to some… clowder of _cats_ to greet them. Good day!”

Claude offers Lorenz a hand in farewell as he goes, and Lorenz scrunches up his nose at him. One day, certainly, they might get along.

“Come, Uğur. Aislinn told me cats like milk, so let’s see if we can find some for you in the kitchens, yes?” The golden lord scoops up the kitten into his arms as he stands, who is just _delighted_ to be held. It’s purring up a storm, and Claude is simply enchanted.

There are little smiles from the maids as he passes with little Uğur in his arms, but they make no comments, letting the lord go with his new feline friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **uğur** \-- "good omen" in turkish
> 
> sorry for the double ping! i'm still not really used to using ao3 and i keep having trouble with it @_@ i'm sorryyyyyy
> 
> thank you for the kind words, everyone!!! they mean a lot T_T i wanted to step back and do something a liiiittle softer this time... also hello there lorenz. if you're curious about the turkish name and such, i strongly suggest u read this [really good post](https://rorvk.tumblr.com/post/186830710067/fire-emblem-three-houses-middle-eastcentral) about claude's ethnic coding in the game. **!!spoilers for the golden deer route and claude's backstory!!**
> 
> also, [please look at this absolutely gorgeous piece of claude art](https://twitter.com/solarwreathe/status/1158872616121327621). look at it. look at it with your eyes
> 
> i also (2x) wanted to mention that i _do_ intend to actually include byleth eventually, because i would hate myself if i just left it at this. but for now! these are my ramblings that i'm glad y'all like and connect with ;w; every comment and kudos means a lot... so thank you for enjoying my work!!!!!! <3
> 
> [catch me on the blue bird hellsite](http://twitter.com/manatrigger)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [today's mandatory listening](https://open.spotify.com/track/2G5ZpNvgSOOcBCpLcOfvJy?si=AwhMDE4eTzyTAvbkt6LMyQ) \-- not quite a 1on1 match, but a very good mood song for how claude feels pre-war vs during the war (aka right now)

Uğur makes himself comfortable in his new home, and Claude is reminded of just why he hates Fódlan summers so much.**  
**

“How can you stand the heat?” Claude complains, leaning back and fanning himself while Judith stands over their war table, and his aunt rolls her eyes in response. “It feels like my skin is going to melt off.”

“Oh, get over it. Leaders don’t whine about the heat in the middle of a war meeting,” Judith gently lectures, but the words are in vain. It’s only the two of them and Claude’s retainers, but the appearances are worth keeping up.

Judith is only visiting for the time being, anyway— there were recent attacks on the border from Almyra, and Claude called her in to deal with them while he focused on inter-Alliance issues. Duke Holst is also due to join them for the talks, but he was delayed by some days due to bandits in the south. 

_Still._ Almyra wasn’t this dry during the summer, and honestly, Claude thinks this is worse. The climate is far more temperate in his homeland, enough so that even the humid summers are bearable, but the Alliance is nestled between two great mountain ranges that block the majority of the eastern and western winds. Thankfully, the Riegan estate is spared the worst of it by being near the coast, but it’s only so much of an improvement.

“I’m going for a walk,” Claude sighs as he stands, pushing back his chair and running a hand through his hair to push it back, fingers coming back coated in sweat. Judith waves him off before returning to studying the map with a pensive expression, before she starts listing off strategies to one of the retainers as Claude leaves.

There was only a season left before the Golden Deer class of 1181 were supposed to reunite for their fifth year anniversary. The world had been so different when Claude had sworn by that promise, then— brighter, before the continent had been engulfed in the flames of Edelgard’s war.

Claude had wondered, after all was said and done that night, where he would be in five years. Would he have accomplished his goals? Would he have ascended the throne, by this point? Would he be someone Byleth would be proud of— to look at as more than simply a pupil?

_A foolish thought,_ Claude had thought then, laughing at himself in some attempt to deal with his pitiful crush on the professor. _Teach’ll have better things to worry about than what his little Golden Deers have been up to._

He knew he’d been lying to himself to some degree— watching Byleth blossom with life over the months had been invigorating in a way Claude didn’t think was possible. When he’d arrived, Byleth was stoic— apathetic, cold, difficult to read. The first time Byleth smiled proper, Claude was nearly knocked off his feet— not because of his _heart_, per se (although that would certainly become an issue later on…), but because it was so unexpected.

And slowly, the smiles became more frequent. Claude learned that the professor adored taking naps in the greenhouse, and had an aching soft spot for the cats of the monastery.

Once, Claude had come across Byleth just… standing in a swath of cats, who clearly vied for his attention. At first, Claude intended to watch and observe, but after several minutes of the professor simply _standing there_, he’d sighed and approached.

Some of the cats scattered at Claude’s footsteps, but not all. Byleth blinked at Claude’s approach, head tilting up to acknowledge him, while Claude waved a hand in greeting. “Seems you’ve made friends with the cats of Garreg Mach, yes?” he teased, and Byleth just blinked again, before looking back towards the cats without a word. The professor had a number of objects in his hands, and Claude had wondered if Byleth had gotten sidetracked from one of his latest lost items runs.

(Really, Garreg Mach just needed to institute a Lost-and-Found… as amusing as it was to watch Byleth run around everywhere trying to find the homes of all these lost objects he kept picking up. It was one of those things that showed Byleth’s compassion despite his icy demeanor, and Claude had no intention of stealing that joy away quite yet.)

“They don’t like me much,” Claude continued after only getting silence, sighing and shaking his head. “I think it’s the smell of the poison, but I’m not sure. Maybe I just don’t have my technique right.” At that, Claude bent down to offer his hand to one of the felines still loitering around Byleth, who pulled back and hissed at him.

“What are you doing?”

Claude blinked at that, looking up at Byleth’s inquisitive stare. “Trying to pet it, although it’s not very receptive,” he said, pulling his hand back but staying close to the ground. Byleth nodded, thoughtful, before he knelt down with him, gently setting down the box of items to make his own attempt with the creature, offering his knuckles much like Claude had.

A tortoiseshell took interest and trotted up to sniff Byleth’s hand for a few moments before she pushed her head into his hand, rather aggressively pressing up into his fingers. It took a few seconds for Byleth to get the memo, and he gently stroked the cat on the head, as careful as one might be while handling porcelain.

“Teach, have you— have you never pet a cat before?” Claude asked, a little incredulously, looking up at Byleth once he realized what has happening. He snorted out a laugh when he realized he’d hit the nail on the head, and Byleth had the courtesy to look a little embarrassed.

“We never kept pets on the road. There was no reason to, since we moved around so much. Only slowed us down,” Byleth explained, still petting the cat as he got more comfortable. The professor then paused for a moment, thinking. “...I think Jeralt likes dogs, anyway.”

Absolutely fascinating. Claude absorbed this information like a sponge— the professor rarely talked about his life with Jeralt past the necessary details. “So that’s why you were just standing there. You didn’t know what to do.”

There’s a blush on Byleth’s cheeks at being caught, and he ducked his head— perfectly in tune with the way Claude’s stomach swooped at the sight, and he cursed in his head at himself for it. “Ah, ah, don’t feel bad about it! You’ve got plenty of test subjects now, don’t ya? Oh— is that mine?”

_That’s_ where his journal went. Claude reached over to snap it up, intent on changing the subject so that the professor wouldn’t have to sit here and get teased over simple circumstance. He stood upon retrieving his item, and some of the cats who’d returned scattered again.

“You should be more careful not to leave your things around,” Byleth lectured at that, face going neutral in the light of Claude’s omission. “I found that by the lake. It was only a few feet away from the water— one clumsy student and you would’ve lost it to the fish.”

Despite his impassive face, though, Byleth’s eyes were twinkling with a spark of humor, and Claude smiled easily at the sight. He put his hands up in defeat, journal still clutched in one. “Alright, alright, I’ll try not to! Sometimes things are just so distracting, Teach, cut me some slack. But thanks for finding it, yeah?” Claude winked, and tapped the journal with one finger from his opposite hand. “Can’t come up with those schemes of mine without the right outlet.”

Byleth offered a cryptic smile at that, and gave the tortoiseshell one last pat on the head before he stood. He crossed his arms, not having picked up his box of lost items yet. “Stay out of trouble, then. Don’t make me confiscate it, Claude— you won’t get it back if I do.”

There was a huff of laughter from Claude in response, and he shook his head. “I’ll be good, I promise, Teach! I’m not a big rule-breaker. I just like to bend them!”

The professor sighed and shook his head, leaning down to retrieve his box of things. The cats protested Byleth’s departure, but Claude just waved goodbye to the beloved professor, before he tucked his journal under his arm and turned the other direction with a stupid smile on his face.

It’s just a form of masochism, Claude knows, to get wrapped up in memories from the past. That was before Jeralt’s death, before the halls of the monastery were darkened with the overcast shadow of the storm that was to come.

Claude had spent months searching for Byleth. At the very least, he wanted a body to bring home and bury— he couldn’t bear the thought of Byleth all alone, broken and lifeless, at the bottom of that ravine with no one left to mourn him.

But they didn’t even find that. It was painful— Claude cried to himself in private more over the decision to finally end the search than he did on the day they had lost him. They were shameful tears, not because he wasn’t willing to cry, but because he felt so pitiful— like he’d _failed_ Byleth, somehow.

“It’s been three year, boy. Let it rest.” Judith’s voice startles Claude from his thoughts, and he blinks as she approaches up behind him, having been so lost in his head that he hadn’t even noticed her. Claude had made his way to one of the ledges nearby, looking out at the Riegan territory while he entertained thoughts better left buried. He looks over at her, arms crossed as he leans on the ledge, while Judith braces herself against the stone.

She looks tired.

This war has not been kind to any of them, and the Alliance has relied heavily on Judith’s expertise and prowess in weathering the worst of it. It’s a blessing that the Adrestian Empire has focused more on Faerghus rather than targeting the Alliance, but it’s only a matter of time before Edelgard sets her eyes on the rest of Fódlan.

“You say you can’t read me, yet you always know the best things to say. Are you sure you aren’t a mind reader, _teyze_?” Claude’s words are teasing, but they don’t have much bite— he’s too tired himself to keep it up, at least right now. Not when she’s caught him off guard and called him on it like this— there’s just no point.

Judith rolls her eyes at that, turning her sharp gaze on him. It almost looks like she’s going to keep lecturing him, but she takes a look at Claude’s bittersweet smile, and thinks better of it. She looks away again, and sighs. “I know I’m not the only person who’s noticed. But you’re just going to keep hurting yourself, aren’t you?”

Claude makes a noise of thought at that, shifting until he’s mimicking her position, drumming his fingers against the stone. “It’s not like I do it intentionally, y’know. Sometimes you just see something and it reminds you of the people you lost. Is that so hard to understand?” He says it with a little laugh, playing off his words, but Judith takes the full brunt of it regardless, eyes going distant at the reminder of her own ghosts. “I never got closure. We found the bodies of the other soldiers who died that day— Teach wasn’t the only one knocked off that ravine. But not him. It’s hard not to think about it.”

She’s right, though. Hilda’s mentioned it more than a few times, but never harsh. They only truly argued about it once, and that was the same day she realized that she would always lose those arguments. Claude was stubborn, and his heart was set on the professor— once she understood that, she never pushed again, only worrying in those rare moments of privacy where they opened up to each other and dropped their pretenses.

Marianne had never mentioned it, but her expression always became dismal— _haunted_— whenever anyone brought up the professor. Raphael took it better, shrugging it off with boisterous words and trying to make everyone smile instead of frown. Ignatz was less tactful, but he tried to do the same. No amount of prodding could ever make any of them open up to Claude, so he didn’t try to, instead supporting them however he could in their shared grief.

Lystheia had taken it hard, but she refused to cry on the topic— but she did spent months researching if it was possible to even survive that kind of fall.

(All sources pointed towards no.)

Claude still remembers the ugly tears Leonie had cried that day, the way her fingers clawed at the dirt as if she could dig a hole through the ground and drag Byleth back up out of hell and force him not to go falling again. It had been a bitter scene, one Claude has never mentioned again, if only for the frostiness Leonie now carries with her anytime someone brings the professor up.

She might be the only person who had taken it harder than Claude himself, and she decided years ago that there was no point in waiting for Byleth to come back. It was easier if he was dead, Leonie had admitted one night— it was easier to be angry at a ghost.

Lorenz was the one that pulled them together on that awful night. Even Claude was shell-shocked, and the purple-haired lord was the one who took the lead in Claude’s stead, leading the Golden Deer students out of the worst of the fighting and into safety. Away from Garreg Mach.

They all returned all the same, though. Each of them looking— hoping— that Byleth would reappear, that after a few weeks time he would resurface from that goddess-forsaken place healthy and hale.

Claude waited the longest. He searched for six months, praying for something, _anything_.

Byleth didn’t come home.

“You’re doing it again,” and there’s a sigh from Judith, interrupting Claude’s thoughts once more. “I can’t very well have you lead a strategy meeting if you’re going to zone out every time I stop talking.”

At the very least, Claude looks a bit bashful, wistfully smiling even if he doesn’t meet Judith’s eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry. It’s just one of those days, I suppose.”

She makes a noise of affirmation, the air between them going quiet again. But before Claude can return to his brooding, she speaks up again, still looking out at the Riegan territory. “What do you intend to do, then? You can’t live in the past forever.”

Admittedly, it was painful to think of a future without Byleth. It simply seemed impossible— Claude couldn’t imagine a future with any joy in it if the professor wasn’t there, somehow, always present.

And the plague of Byleth’s memory, of that gentle smile, was what haunted Claude the most. When had his dreams become intertwined with what was only supposed to be a crush? When did he let this happen in the first place?

“The same thing I’ve always planned to do. One day, I will have to return to Almyra, but only once the war has ended. If we can weather this storm, then I will look forward towards relations between Almyra and Fódlan.” Claude makes a face at that, clearly not fully happy with his next words. “Which means we will likely have to negotiate with Edelgard, to some degree. And that will be difficult to manage if we can remain outside the worst of the war long enough to get that far. But we shall see what fate has in store for us.”

Judith seems somewhat placated by that answer, if only for the moment. “As long as you don’t intend to make us all wait forever. You have a lot on your shoulders, boy, but you did it to yourself. Make sure you don’t crumble under the weight.”

She sounds harsh, but Claude knows this is just Judith’s way of expressing concern for him. He laughs it off, trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere between them. “It’ll be fine, _teyze_. I just need time. And my feelings won’t get in the way of what needs to be done, so don’t worry about it.”

This time, Judith doesn’t look convinced, but maybe that’s because Claude isn’t entirely sure he’s telling the truth himself.

After the meeting concludes in full, Claude ventures out into one of the nearby towns, having stripped down to plainer rider clothes. His mare is lacking all of the usual finery usually adorning Riegan mounts, and it’s for a reason— he doesn’t like to be recognized, when he goes out. It’s easier that way, when he does things like this. Judith doesn’t approve, but she doesn’t comment, either; he’s a grown man. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of his duties, she won’t get in the way of Claude’s private time.

It’s just a little town, a three hour ride away from the Riegan estate. There’s a decently sized Almyran community here, refugees and immigrants from the other side of the border, whether they were brought here as children much like Cyril or came over of their own accord. That’s why it’s so easy for Claude to blend in— in some places in Fódlan, Claude stands out like a sore thumb no matter how much he may try not to, but not here.

Here, he feels a little at home.

“Hail, Dilan!” A familiar voice calls out to Claude and he smiles wider, even if his heart feels hollow at the sound of it. Claude turns to face it, and a young man near his age waves from one of the nearby taverns, purplish blue hair cropped short and neat. Despite his age, he wears an apron around his waist, and one of the workers heeds his words as the boy turns to give him an order— he was the owner of this tavern, a Fódlan native.

His hair is similar, which is why Claude noticed him in the first place, the bastard he is— but his eyes are off, a deep chocolate brown rather than the bluish green that haunts Claude in his dreams. He’s terribly sweet, and Claude is a weaker man than most know him for.

“Good to see you’re still working hard. I was just riding in to see you,” Claude says, leading his horse up to the tavern and into the stables, giving her a gentle pat once he’s finished getting her settled. “How have you been, Noa? Is your mother still doing well?”

Noa brushes some of that blue hair out of his eyes and gives Claude a bright smile, evidently pleased that Claude remembered at all. “She is doing well, yes! She’ll be happy to hear that you stopped by. Will you be staying for long?”

(Claude feels bad, lying to the boy. To himself, on a number of levels. But it’s easier to be Dilan, an Almyran traveler who occasionally passes through, instead of Claude— it’s easier to tell himself that Noa’s hair is tinted green rather than purplish, that his eyes reflected the stormy skies instead of the earth which keeps Claude grounded. Noa is also far more expressive than he ever was, but it’s fine— it helps remind Claude that he isn’t _him_.

Just similar enough that Claude is weak, regardless.)

“Only for the night. I must return to my group at dawn— we’re on a tight schedule, and it was hard for me to squeeze away.” _That’s_ truthful, at the very least— Judith will be unhappy if Claude stays gone for long, and it’s easier for both himself and Noa if he doesn’t linger much. Noa may be bright and sunny, but he isn’t stupid, and they both know that this relationship of theirs is mostly physical.

The boy still looks disappointed, though he keeps smiling. “I… suppose that’s fair. Come, then. I’ve been working on a new dish that I think you might like. Mother will be happy to see you too, if you’d like to say hello!” Noa is deceptively good at being positive despite it all, and Claude can’t fight the genuine smile that comes to his face in response.

He allows himself to be lead into the tavern, to be Dilan for the night. Noa’s laughter and warmth fills his night, and Claude allows himself to pretend that _this_ is the happiness he wants.

Noa is still asleep in his bed as the dawn light filters through the window. It’s getting harder and harder to pull himself away whenever mornings come, but Claude forces himself to, despite the chill that sneaks into his heart.

It’s summertime, and yet Claude feels so cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **teyze** \-- a turkish word of endearment, loosely meaning "mother's sister" or "aunt"
> 
> **dilan** \-- a turkish name which means "love"
> 
> HELLO EVERYONE... SORRY I DIED FOR A MONTH... i've been Goin' Thru It(TM) as the kids say so i've been strugglign to write anything i felt confident enough to post. i'm sorry!!! i hope you like this chapter though, and i hope you're ready for the fun stuff to start next chapter... i have many things prepared... i have an approximate knowledge of many ways this will go and they are all very painful :3......................... i hope u can't wait as much as i can't!!!!!! <:)
> 
> also, i bumped up the rating, and there's a good chance it'll go up more in the future. just lettin' yall know!
> 
> [obligatory twitter drop](http://twitter.com/manatrigger)


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